


entangled

by megamegaturtle



Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: F/M, Reincarnation, Soulmate AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-16
Updated: 2015-10-16
Packaged: 2018-04-26 14:42:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5008654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megamegaturtle/pseuds/megamegaturtle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once upon a time, two souls fell in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	entangled

He knows that there is a red string that connects him to her. It’s invisible, Peter knows, but he can still feel it, his pinkie being tugged forwards to find her in the dead of night. She’s worth breaking all the rules, he reckons, though he doesn’t understand why he feels this way—why did it have to be her? Yet he stopped caring about that answer, his heart and soul knowing that no one else makes him feel as complete as she does. In the darkest of days, she’s the light that guides him, leading him with a strong hand to a new beginning. As long as she’s there, he’ll break every treaty just to spend a few more moments with her. After all, she’s all that matters.

He doesn’t doubt that as he slips out of the castle undetected, stealthily avoiding lazy guards that snooze at their posts. Adjusting the bag over his shoulder, his wings itch to fly, to taste moonlight on their brown tips, but Peter resists the urge. There is no reason for unwanted attention and besides, true love makes him soar higher than his birth-given right. If having her meant being earth bound, then walking never seemed better. Pushing fears to the back of his mind, he carries on to his destination.

He wades through the tall grasses to the meeting place right under the daisies. It’s her favorite place in all the Light Fields and he’ll find her a field filled to the edges for her next spring. Together they will journey the world to wherever she wants to go - his whole world consists of her. Stepping carefully, it doesn’t take much effort for his long legs to go over pebbles and find his footing in the darkness. Peter is more worried for the person he’s meeting; her small legs can only take her so far.

The moon is high tonight, bright and big like his heart, as he steps into the clearing. Dew drops are already beginning to collect on the petals and leaves, but the fresh scent surrounds him and he doesn’t care about the impending day. He is exactly where he needs to be.

As he’s playing with a ring in his pocket, his insignia wrapped around a large diamond, he hears a rustling from the grasses to the side of him. Silently, a hand covers the hilt of his sword, ready to defend himself at a moment’s notice if need be. Yet what tumbles through the grasses and lands square on their bottom is no foe—and certainly not a friend—but just the person that wants to see.

“Oh, these stupid short legs,” she mutters while she picks herself up. As she dusts herself off, her cap falls, exposing dark brown hair.

Peter flies over instantly, snatching up her small brown cap and places it gently atop her head. He allows himself to tug it snugly and ties it at her chin playfully.

Big amber eyes stare up at him, her small lips pursed in a scowl momentarily before softening into a smile. “Thanks, Pete.”

He grins, his fairy features showing off dazzling teeth, “Anything for you, Marigold.”

She smiles at him again and her little arms grab hold of his hand, pressing kisses to each knuckle. She’s so cute, he wants to say, but he knows better than to compliment the elf in such a way, her pride too strong and formidable to allow her to be be defined by appearances.

Marigold’s ears twitch before she walks to sit upon a large rock in the middle of the clearing. He realizes that she’s dressed simply and carries no knapsack of her own.

“Goldie,” he calls to her, “where is your bag?”

She releases a little sigh and pats for him to sit next to her wordlessly. Not many people can command him to do something, but he doesn’t mind if the request comes from her.

Sitting gingerly on the rock, she cuddles up to the side of him, his arm encircling her entire body. They sit in near silence, with only crickets chirping in the background as the moon starts its descent in the night sky. She fiddles with the strings of his tunic before finding the resolve to speak.

He almost doesn’t hear her, her voice as gentle as the wind, but he does.

“Pete, I’m not going to run away with you.”

The air is stolen out of his chest and he wishes that he couldn’t hear her at all. The dread that has been lurking in his stomach spreads, turning him into stone.

His mouth is dry and he needs to lick his lips for some sort of moisture. “Why not?”

Of course, he knows the answer. He’s always known the answer. Daydreams of red strings are fluttering away as the conversation continues.

The elf beside him takes a shuddering breath, grabbing his tunic tighter in her small hands.

“You need to marry the princess.”

He tears away from her hold to stare at her, an argument rearing up his throat, but it dies on his lips.

She once said that his eyes reminded her of the sky and knowing that the two shades were interchangeable was enough for her to get through her days.

She also once said that duty is the most important thing in one’s life.

And in this moment, when his blue eyes stare into her amber ones, he knows what he will have to do.

But he speaks from his heart when he tells her, “I don’t want to marry her; I want to marry  _you_.”

Goldie stands up quickly so that they can meet more easily eye-to-eye. Her hands go straight to her hips; her amber eyes burning fierce. “And I want a king who will take care of my people!”

His heart flips, in part because what she says is true, and in part because her directness is what he loves most about her. There are no games with Marigold, she tells it as it is and because of that, Peter has always been able to be himself.

“…I still want to marry you,” he whispers as he pulls the ring out of his pocket, the gorgeous symbol of their love laying flat in his palm.

She gasps as she sees it and she rests her tiny hand over his.

Her voice wavers, but Marigold doesn’t lose her resolve. “We don’t always get what we want.”

* * *

Rebel heard of red strings, bindings that tie you to another person for all of your lifetimes. She’s heard of them and scoffed when her mother told her the story one night by the fire.  _Red strings?_  She thought it was so absurd, truly, to want this connection to another creature when she desires power and strength to never need anyone.

Those are things that goblins need, especially now in a time of crisis. There is a war, a push back against the fairies and their allies. She needs to remain strong; her hide needs to be thick so she can fight. True love provides little armor against sharp teeth and claws.

Yet it is possible, perhaps due to her delirium, that red strings are making sense–and it’s with a bloody elf no less. She hisses in pain, not only due to her silly thoughts, but also because said damn elf is cleaning her wounds again.

“I have no pity for you,” he says simply as he cleans the gash on her ribs, the healing salve stinging as the blood fizzles clean.

Through gritted teeth, she manages to bite out, “I’ll have your head on a stick!”

Fenn chuckles as if he doesn’t believe her, “You say that every time, goblin.”

She doesn’t really remember how she ended up in the care of a nurse elf. There were arrows and spells and swords from all sides, storming her camp in the middle of the night like cowards. She wants to blame the creatures of the Light Fields, but she was in fact attacked by goblin insurgents trying to build a central government. She grimly laughs to herself, the notion that goblins could be united as a singular unit. Don’t they know that the goblins have had tribes since the beginning of time, and that’s the way things will be until the end of the world?

Rebel hisses again, growls, and snaps her teeth at the elf. “I’m going to eat you, elfie.”

His dark and steady hands still for a moment, but then he arches a brow, his sky blue eyes twinkling. “Will you now? I’m  _so_  terrified by a beat-up little goblin.”

She rolls her eyes, muttering to herself that the only thing little here is him, but he pays her no mind. He has only been kind to her since she has been under his care for the last three days, seeming not to mind that her side and his are at odds in this war.

_The injured need healing_ , he told her on the first night when he dragged her to his hut. She swam in and out of wakefulness and remembers that he always came back to her side. She knows that he has other patients in the village, but none of them are currently staying in his home. However, Rebel tries to not let that fact make her feel special or unique–a goblin has no need for such feelings right now.

After tending to her, he grabs hold of her goblin hand and pats it. “All better,” he jests before his soft lips brush the top of it.

And though she said she never believed in red strings, in this moment, here and now, she’s willing to give it a shot.

Fenn’s the only thing that’s been normal since her sister died.

He’s the only one to make her heart beat so fast that she feels she might just die, too.

* * *

They believe in red strings. It randomly came up one night while drinking under the sweet primrose petals. Though both pretended that true love was a silly idea for dumb fairies, they were just two goblins that craved it too.

That’s why before the start of the battle this morning, wrapped up in the sheets of their bed, they tied red ribbons to one another’s wrist.

“So you don’t lose me,” Thorn said, her amber eyes glowing in the sunrise’s light. Her scaly fingers prickled only slightly as she tied it neatly into a knot.

“And so you don’t lose me,” Moss affirmed, his blue eyes just as bright, his fingers slimy as he tied hers.

But that was hours ago, in a sweet reprieve of their humble sanctuary before goblins raged war against each other, fighting to the death for their own cause. For most, it is either to kill the king or keep him alive - but for Moss and Thorn, they just want to survive.

“For the King!” Thorn shouts as she claws at a charging enemy.

He’s larger than her, and the horns protruding from his skull look dangerous, but she’s fought worse. He falls when her nails rip open his neck, causing the blood to spray before he hits the ground. She’s covered in his blood and the blood of many others, so drenched that she can’t see the ribbon tied to her wrist, but she can feel it. The tight knot digging into her the soft skin is a reminder of what’s important.

_We just need to survive._

She wants to take a break, but the rival army is not slowing. Behind her, Moss is fighting his own battle, his grunts loud as he strikes his foe with a mace. She smiles to herself when she hears a satisfying crunch of bones crackling and a body thudding from impact with the earth.

But it’s not his war cry that rings in the air.

She whips around, panic coursing rapidly through her veins as her worst nightmare is visible before her. Thorn’s eyes go wide as she sees a rival enemy stand over Moss’s body, about to take the final blow, wearing a bloodthirsty smile and looking monstrous as he sneers at her fallen love.

She doesn’t know where she gets the power from, but suddenly she’s rushing towards him, a roar more feral than she has ever heard tearing out from within her. It distracts him just enough to make a difference, though. She leaps and bites down on his neck, making this kill more personal as she uses her teeth to destroy him.  _We must survive_ , echoes in her mind as she tastes the blood on her tongue.  _Together_. It is only until she feels that he is good and dead, his body mangled beyond recognition, that she turns her attention to her lover.

The anger and fear all rolled up into her soul ebbs away and her heart is now pounding hard in her chest, thudding against the plate of her exoskeleton. Crumpled on the ground, his chest dented in such a fatal way, lays the person she loves most.

Wordlessly, she crawls to his side, praying that if she blinks enough times, this won’t be reality. But after each blink, it only reveals his dying body in front of her. Even though moments before she displayed such strength, now that it matters, she can only cradle his head gently in her arms.

This can’t be real.

“Moss,” she whimpers, her face feeling slick—though she can’t tell if it’s from blood or tears.

His jaw opens and he tries to speak, but only manages to form gurgles, blood seeping from the edges of his mouth. He just holds onto her desperately, each breath racking his body in pain as he wheezes.

With what seems like a feat of strength, he lifts up a webbed hand to cup her thorny face,  thumb brushing along her cheek. He can’t speak, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t hear the words he’s trying to say.

_I love you._

She covers her hand over his, her eyes briefly closing again, to relish in this moment. This is it.

Thorn tries to smile, anything to give him reassurance, as she presses a kiss to his forehead, to his lips; whispering gently: “You never lost me.”

Her love is the last thing Moss experiences before she kills him out of mercy.

* * *

It’s a rare and idle day as they sit by a stream at the border. Even rarer is the fact that both Bog and Marianne are nestled comfortably on their backs cloud gazing rather than sparring one another.

“That one looks like a bunny,” Marianne says as she gestures lazily towards the sky.

Bog laughs and grabs her still moving hand, intertwining such delicate fingers between his own rough ones. “You have a terrible eye for this, Tough Girl,” he playfully scolds.

She hums, enjoying the heat from the sun and the warmth spreading in her chest from the closeness of the goblin next to her. “Yeah, well, you still like me.”

He squeezes her hand a bit. “I  _love_  you,” he corrects.

Marianne smirks, feeling slightly victorious that she can make him so mushy in such a short amount of time.  _Everyone deserves to be loved_ , she remembers her mother telling her as a child. Stories before bedtime, stories about true love and how fate is a funny thing. Her mother’s soft voice is still wispy and sweet in her memories, carrying her down the path of childhood. One particular story comes to her attention though, as Bog’s hold on her hand tightens. She flips on her stomach to take a good look at him.

He arches a brow and props himself on his elbow, curiosity getting the better of the Bog King. “What?”

Her mouth moves in that way, the one where she’s trying to say something sweet but is afraid it’ll come out too soft. “I was wondering….”

“Yes…?”

But his Tough Girl is a brave woman and pushes out the next words despite the fact that she’s blushing madly. “Do believe in red strings?”

“Red strings?”

She buries her face in his chest, this vein of thought proving to be more embarrassing than she had seemingly thought . Though it isn’t easy to hear, he understands her mutterings. “You know, like strings of fate—soulmates…”

And like an old door opening, creaking with secrets, Bog too remembers stories told late at night as he sat on his father’s knee, the deep voice weaving tales about wild heroes and true love’s first kiss.  _Red strings, son_ , his father said one night, wistfully sneaking a look at his wife,  _That’s how I found your mother and that’s how she found me._

_That’s gross, Pa!_

Before he loses himself completely to childish fantasy, Marianne’s gentle caress on his knuckles tethers him back to reality, to a world where they—fairy and goblin—exist. He glances over at her and notices that she’s looking at him, her expression curious and wondering what images dance in his head.

His lips curl in a smile, however, and song words spring from his tongue to form a verse his heart remembers. “Red string, red string…”

Her smile is just as knowing and the only answer he needs when she replies in kind. “…tie me to thee, tie me to the love that’s always been thee.”


End file.
